Inquisition: Sicarius
by Zohra-Falter
Summary: The tragedy and adventure of the Inquisition as seen with the hero, Belaya-Mysh' Adaar, and those she binds herself to. -MAJOR SPOILER ALERTS- Follows game, parts un-cannon. F/F, M/F, and M/M pairings. Don't like it don't read it.
1. First Recount: Separated

Disclaimer: I do not own Inquisition or any of the Dragon Age property. Nor do I own any crossover references such as places, other world's characters, and so on that are scene through out the story.

_Sicarius_

_First Recount: Separated_

We had watched as the Divine left with her escorts for the conclave. We had let her convince us that she would not need us with her; that she would not need her Right and Left Hands. So together we waited for Justinia's return, until the mountains shook beneath our feet, and the sky erupted and tore asunder. Together we lead our remaining forces to the Conclave in search of our Divine, of our Justinia. But when we arrived, we were met by the Fade's scourge, who hailed down on us from the Breach. We were met with soldiers fleeing from the demons. We were met with The Temple of Sacred Ashes in ruin before us. When more men fled the ruin, dragging a still living body between them, we ran to them in hopes that our fears were not met. But soon we were met with despair as the men carried not our Divine, but a stranger with them. Cassandra's shouted demands of an explanation were drowned by the clamor of the fleeing soldiers and the rain of demons bursting upon the earth around us. Together we fought against the demon horde. Together we aided in carrying the unknown woman to Haven. Together we gave her over to the elf mage Solas for care.

But for the first time in a long time, we now go our separate ways. For we both loved our Divine, our Justinia. She had given us hope, purpose, and an anchor to bind us together. Through her we were bound together in our camaraderie, and now it is uncertain whether we will even be able to give her the proper burial she deserves. And so we grieve. Cassandra, in her pain, resorts to her anger. She yells in increasing volumes at the templars and the soldiers who scramble to fortify the village before our unholy enemy is upon us. Her cries of stern commands pierce through the stone walls of Haven's Chantry. Already she demands that the stranger be bound and placed in one of the prison cells below. Already she demands that she be updated of the woman's condition regularly. I have long since dispatched my agents to do what they can in the disaster. So alone I grieve in my quarters. Without Cassandra's presence I am able to open the flood gates of my despair. If anyone hears my wails of agony, they do not come. For now without my Divine, without my Justinia to pull me from the darkness in my heart; I succumb to despair. I must allow myself to grieve now; let loose the sorrow and anger and confusion. For when the Qunari woman awakens; I will need to be cold. I will need to be stone. I will need to be whoever is needed to drive the answers out of the stranger. I will need to do what it takes to live by the memory of Justinia's guidance, and in turn guide the world out of the darkness that will surely come.


	2. Medical and Fade Observations

This chapter begins a non-cannon expansion on the possibility of the presence of different races within the Elven, Qunari, and Dwarven cultures. They are present in Humanity's society, so why not try to expand from that?

_Medical and Fade Observations: The Qunari Woman and the Breach Mark_

_ I, Solas: Elven Mage and adept study of the Fade, have taken it upon myself to observe and care for the medical needs of a Qunari women. This woman was found by the Templar soldiers who attempted to enter the Conclave after the Breach's initial explosion. They had intended to find what remained of the Divine, one Justinia V, formerly known as Revered Mother Dorothea. What, or who, they found instead was a woman bursting forth from the Breach's portal. The reports I could glean from whatever soldiers the Seeker doesn't keep from me stated that there was another woman on the other side of the portal. Whatever the unknown woman's identity, role in the Breach's formation, and connection to the Conclave's destruction is unknown. Her connection to the Qunari woman is equally unknown. Of the Qunari woman herself; it has been determined by the emblem on her cloak that she had travelled with, or is a mercenary by trade. Her role in the Breach's event is also unknown. When and if she awakens, I have no doubt that the Right and Left Hands of the late Divine will interrogate her on the matter. _

As I record my observations of this young woman I see more than hear her stir in her restless slumber. It is surprising how quiet this Qunari is even in slumber. I have had few exchanges with her kind. From what I've gathered; even if they speak little they are still a loud and riotous people. Whether they are of the Qun or of the Tal Vashoth; their very steps shake the foundations. At one point in my travels I had to camp along side a troop of Qunari mercenaries. Even when they did not snore, the torrent of air that filled their massive lungs with every breathe made a sound not unlike the roaring winds. But the Qunari before me is silent as death, and almost as still. Her breaths are slow, almost measured; each inhale taking several minutes. Every extended exhale is released just as lengthily. She stirs again, these small movements the only indication of the Mark's burden. Every time the mark pulses with the Breach's light it grows. Every time it grows the Qunari woman's face cringes in her torment, and she silently shifts against the shackles on her wrists. The chains rattle against the stone floor and the wall behind her. She flinches at the sound but does not wake. I continue to write my observations.

_The Seeker had found it necessary to chain the Qunari and imprison her in the Chantry's holding cells. I had protested; the Mark was draining the young woman's strength. Spending her recovery time in the dank and cold would only worsen its affects. The Seeker had not relented._

The Qunari takes a wheezing breath with the next pulse of sickly green light. I look over to where she lays on the stone. She has curled inward in a fetal position. She quakes with violent shivers, and her silvery grey skin has gained a ghastly pallor. I pick up the bottle of potion beside me and stand to walk over to her. I kneel beside her, open the bottle, and place the edge at her lips. She does not drink. I persist. She turns her head away. I turn it back towards the bottle and press it firmly against her lips. She relents.

As the potion slips past her lips, her demeanor becomes lax. The potion's calming affects countering the torture of the Mark. I take the bottle back and cork it. I've only a small amount of the concoction, and must ration it between each episode of weakness. If she were to have a particularly nasty episode without it, it may take what little strength she has left.

I return to my workplace and continue my observations.

_Even as I first laid eyes on her I knew the Qunari's survival was questionable. Even without the Mark to torment her, starvation is apparent, and her small frame quaked with the cold. It is always harder to detect it when Qunari aren't upright. The effect of having them tower so far above you often only present then. But this young woman was indeed that; young, and even then so very small for her kind in both height and physique._

_ Qunari possess long powerful limbs like the trunks of oak trees. In their place she possesses lanky thin limbs not unlike a willow's. Even when they are young, Qunari women had bulky, muscular, but not unfeminine forms. This young Qunari is almost serpentine; long and thin and versatile. Qunari are giants with the dark broad horns of bulls, or curling ram's horns. They tower several heads taller than most humans. This one adorns silvery, swooping, and wisp-like prongs. Were she to stand next to the Seeker, I doubt she would be even a four inches taller. This creature is built for speed, not force. _

_ She may be a Hart-men Qunari; a diminutive race of Qunari that serve their goliath Ox-men counterparts. They are smaller and lither by nature; but this Hart-men Qunari is almost elf-like in stature, and drastically thin from an absence of food more than a hereditary trait. What should be the rounded cheeks of a young woman are gaunt with the loss of much needed body fat. What should be limbs supple with sinuous muscle, are thinned and almost frail looking._

_ Why was this one so far away from the Qunari lands? Typically they are not permitted to venture outside to lands not under Qun influence. So rare are these smaller Qunari, the Ox-men tend to stow them away like prized hounds. They keep them close, and keep them under their thumbs. But this one had been alone; hundreds of miles away from the closest Qun-lands. What's more is this young Hart-men was traveling with a mercenary group, or more astonishingly a mercenary. Such an occurrence would not pass in the Qun-lands, and is unheard of in Tal-Vashoth groups. The Hart-men are far more regulated than the Ox-men and would be unable to escape. Yet instead of the pampered prize of a Qun lord; she is alone, starved, and now bares the Mark._

She shudders in the cold of the cell. I want to place her cloak around her. Unfortunately both she and it are still damp from the snow. The sodden cloth would only worsen her chill. I stand and walk out to the hallway outside of the holding cells. It runs perpendicular to the holding cells, and at first appears abandoned. When I spot a soldier walking in the opposite direction that I face, I try to hail him. When he passes me and continues on I believe my calls have fallen on deaf ears.

"Is there something that you needed, Mage?" I feel my self lurch in surprise. I turn back to see the Left Hand of the late Divine. "Hail, Leliana." I state. Her brow quirks but otherwise her expression remains neutral. I turn to face her more directly, "The young woman under my care is still unconscious, but she needs a coat or blanket of some sort." Leliana does not respond, so I continue. " The Mark torments her, it causes her to lapse into fits of weakness. The cold is only worsening her state, and her cloak is still damp from the snow. With this in mind, it is not wise to keep her in such conditions. In the very least she needs something I can cover her with to fight off the chill." Leliana's expression darkens minutely before turning around and skulking back down the hall. I cannot help but sigh in disappointment, I had hoped at least one of the Divine's Hands would see reason.

I return to the Qunari's side to see she is experiencing another episode. They are getting more violent. This one has her gasping for breath. Her mouth falls open in silent cries of distress as she tries to clutch her hand to her chest. The Mark's green light pierces the dim of the cells. As I quickly reach for the potion bottle, and prepare to administer it, I hear a loud debate coming from the hall. The opposing voices are almost shouting in their heated argument. My suspicions are confirmed when the door yanks open revealing the Seeker caring blankets, and Leliana closely behind her. Their debate halts when they see me kneeling over the suffering young Qunari. Without a word they both approach the us.

I inch aside so that they may see the Hart-man for themselves as I give her a ration of the potion. There is very little remaining in the glass bottle. When the two dower women move to attend to the young woman I stand aside to consider the options before me. The potion is running out. I will need to make more. Without it the Qunari may die, and any answers we may glean from her lost.


	3. Bright Eyes and a Weak Grasp

Possible OOC to come. Ye' have been warned.

_Bright Eyes and a Weak Grasp_

I suppose I should of expected Leliana to react the way she did. Despite her often evasive behavior; she often revealed her compassionate nature through her anger at other's expense. An anger I was now a target of due to my decision to make the Qunari our prisoner. A prisoner in our _holding cells_ to be exact. As a Seeker I have to take into consideration the presence and neutralization of abominations. When the soldiers had brought us the Qunari with the news that she and they were all who they knew survived; I was crushed by the implications. The Divine is most likely dead, but this Qunari woman survived. This possible _mercenary_ had survived what the Divine did not. This fact is not what, however, why I made the decision to imprison her. The Qunari had leapt out from the depths of a fade rift. The same sort of _breach_ between realms as the one that now makes its home above what used to be the Conclave. Furthermore she came from that rift with obvious evidence of Fade contamination. That mark on her hand pulses in sync with the Breach's magic. What's worse; every pulse of Fade magic causes the mark to spread on its host. What would happen if the mark spread up the Qunari's arm? Her shoulder? What if it completely consumed her? Would she simply die from the exposure, or rise again as an abomination? I did not know and still do not. And so I did what I could to prepare for the worse scenario. I locked her away; with the mage to look after her, and the order to keep me updated on her condition. The mage had objected to her imprisonment. He stated that the Qunari was in no condition to stay in the holds for the duration of her recovery. I replied in kind with the threat this stranger could pose. When the mage relented I had thought that that was the end of it.

Apparently not, for not a moment ago an aggravated Leliana stormed up to me and pulled me from my duties. She had dragged me from the middle of a crisis to scold me like a child being scolded for bullying. When she finally ceased berating me about my apparently unreasonable behavior. She dragged me away again to find a storage room and stacked my arms with blankets. Then _yet again_ she dragged me down the halls of Haven's Chantry all the way to the holding cells below. And the entire time we argued. We're_ still _arguing over how the Qunari, who I thought as an _obvious threat, _should be handled.

"Cassandra, I understand the threat posed by our unexpected guest-" "Our _prisoner._" I correct. She growls in aggravation. "Yes, yes; _our prisoner._ Our _prisoner_ who is our _only lead_ as to what transpired at the Conclave. Our_ prisoner_ who may _die_ as it is from that Mark before we get any of the answers we_ need__!_" I can feel my lips curl in a sneer, "I know we need answers! You know that I know that. But if she were to become an abomination, we would be better off if she were already contained. Any answers we may or may not acquire will be meaningless if a _demon_ takes over." I stop walking, forcing her to stop and face me if she wants to continue. She turns to me in exasperation and I look her straight in the eye before continuing our debate.

"Leliana; I know you were there at the Circle Tower with the Hero during the last Blight." Her expression darkens considerably at me mentioning the event. "You know what damage one abomination causes!" Leliana's replies; voice low with haunting memories and contained anger. Her demeanor turns dangerous, a threat behind every word. "Don't _ever_ use the events of the Blight as leverage in an argument against me Cassandra." Her demeanor is dangerous, a threat behind every word. When her glare pierces into me I must fight to not step away from her. It is times like these that I am reminded of who she is; what she is; how _deadly _she very well _can_ be. Her expression becomes neutral as she drops her gaze and continues."So many people died. So many innocents were turned into abominations because of _one_ blood mage and the _one_ demon he had initially summoned." Her gaze returns to mine and there is cold determination behind it. "I have _first hand_ experience dealing with demons Cassandra. I also have _first hand _experience with the Fade. I know how they work, and I know _quite clearly _the threat they pose." I try to make my cringe discreet as she turns to lead us down the hallway again.

We arrive before the door leading to the holding cells before I stop her once more. I know she disagrees with me. I know that she is very well aware of the threat before us. But I must know - "Why did you drag me around Haven in order to bring blankets personally to our prisoner? And _in the middle of a crisis_ I might add!" Leliana's hand had just grasped the door's handle when I asked, but she pauses. She stands there for a moment before glancing over her shoulder at me. There's something strange in her look. She doesn't say anything as she opens the heavy oak door and motions me inside. I comply.

The scene that greets us causes me to pause. Chained to the wall and lying on the floor is our prisoner. The mark on her hand glows far more violently than when I had last scene it. It's sickly light illuminates the poorly lit corridor and makes her cell gleam menacingly before us. The Qunari's whole body heaves with her silent gasping breaths. The elf mage had been kneeling beside her when we opened the door, and turned toward us when we entered. I feel mildly displaced by the surprise in his expression. I suppose, considering our exchanges on this matter, that I myself shouldn't be surprised by his reaction. He stays silent, however, as Leliana leads the both of us toward them. He even moves aside to make room for us as, we too, kneel on the icy stone floor beside the prisoner.

The Mark clearly pains her. She clutches the hand that bares it as tightly to her chest as she can manage to with the shackles. Her gasping breaths brush at my knees with every huff, and I can see a sheen of perspiration on her grey skin. The mage presses an almost empty bottle to her lips. Even in her pained slumber she tries to turn away from it. But with a steady persistence on the mage's part and a particularly piercing pulse of magic from the Mark; she relents. As she takes what little potion is offered, her whole form seems to sink minutely. Whatever that potion is obviously works. The Qunari's breath is less haggard, and her clutch on her hand has slackened considerably. I feel my brow furrow as her thin hands shake from the stress put on them. I take a glance at her face. She is _very_ thin, and I feel something stir in my gut before I snuff it out.

A gust of wintery chill has somehow made it down to these holding cells. The Qunari's form tenses and folds in on itself as much as possible. Shivers rack her body, and Leliana takes the blankets from me. I turn toward Leliana, and she silently motions me toward the Qunari. I can feel my lip curl in disgust, but she gives me a pointed look. I comply. The elf still silently watches as I inch forward. I slip my hands under her knees and shoulders and start to pull her toward me. The Qunari unconsciously goes taught in my grasp. I feel myself tense up as eyes slowly, almost laboriously open a crack. The bright green eyes; eyes only a shade lighter than Fade magic stare up at me through a haze of delirium. I chance a glance at Leliana; she gives me another pointed look. I lift the Qunari up and pull her, far too easily than it should be, toward me.

The Qunari's whole form goes ridged in alarm. I don't blame her. I've pulled her to sit perpendicular to me; keeping her upright with my grasp around her shoulders. My other arm is still hooked under her knees. I have to lean forward to keep a hold of her. This brings us far too close for my liking. From the cloud of discomfort that shifts into her gaze, I wager she feels just as unnerved by it. Leliana moves to pull hay from the corner of the cell to as a something warmer between the Qunari and the stone. Another chill enters the chamber and the Qunari seems to instinctively curl more toward me for warmth. All the edges that _w__ouldn't _beon a healthy person are made all the more prominent. Her shoulders are too angular, the points of her spine press on my arm too sharply. _There should have been more there. _Shivers roll through her form again and I press her more firmly against me before I catch myself. I can't pull her more forward, the chains are pulled too taught, so I lean closer. Minding her pointed antlers; I've rested her temple against my shoulder. I've leant further forward to the point where I've almost curled over her to accommodate the new position.

My mind reels in protest. Too close. I'm far to close to this prisoner. I'm far too close to this potential abomination. I shouldn't _be _in such proximity to someone who could be a threat. An _un-ignorable _threat. But my churning gut keeps me from pulling away. It keeps me from pulling away from this frightfully suffering _life_. A _life_ that has reached up to grasp weakly at the tabard on my armor. A life threatened by the Mark, and the cold, and being _far to little_ for someone meant to be far too large. I fight with myself to understand the nature of the creature clutched against me. My internal battle almost as violent as the ones against the demons I _know_ are transpiring beyond Haven in my absence. _Yet still I can't move._

A throat clears next to me. The Qunari's pointed ear quirks toward it not unlike a cat's. My gaze, which had been trained on the form in front of me, glances at Leliana. She's prepared the space where the prisoner will now recover far more easily. She's giving me that look again, and I finally understand what that strange element was before; sympathy. Anger flares in my fore-thoughts before being snuffed out by grim understanding. _I needed to see this._ I needed to be reminded as to _why_ I was here. _Why _I was the Right Hand of the Divine, and not just a Seeker. I needed to be reminded that though this Qunari was my prisoner; she was also my charge. Justinia would have been furious with me.

I remove my arm from under the Qunari's knees and take the blankets Leliana hands to me. As best as I can, and despite the shackles; I wrap the Qunari in them. When I place her on the hay and move to pull away, the hands clutching my tabard tense. I look once again into the prisoner's gaze and find confusion, mistrust, and an unspoken question. I huff a tired breath before speaking to her, "We need answers from you, you are our only witness to the events at the Conclave. Consequently that also makes you our only suspect." Alarm flares within green depths. "Furthermore you have this -" I pick up her hands to show her the Mark. "-which provides you with more accusation than favor." Green depths darken. "For now though, you need to recover. When you are well enough, we will interrogate you on the matter." Green depths steel with understanding, and the grasp on my tabard falls.

I turn to Leliana. I try not to cringe at the minute smirk on her lips, but know I've failed when it grows a bit softer. I huff in annoyance and turn to the mage who has been silent through this whole ordeal. " I can't have her kept anywhere else. This cell is as much for her protection right now as it is for ours." The mage nods in grim understanding. "And the shackles?" He asks. I glance down at the Qunari; she seems to be drifting off. Good. "We won't know how she'll react when and if she recovers. If unbound, she may find the strength and gall to run the first chance she gets." He nods again and I motion to the potion bottle in his hands.

"What do you need to make more of that?" He blinks and quirks his head " Elfroot for the most part, three per bottle; deep mushroom, one per four; as well as a fair amount of brandy and concentrator agent." I cringe and my lip curls at the concoction. "What does it do, exactly?" His lips quirk up for an instant in amusement. "The elfroot and deep mushroom help rejuvenate when taken. The concentrator agent boosts that." I can feel myself grow annoyed already. "What about the brandy?" I ask, dreading the answer. He grins, "It intoxicates them and blinds them to pain." I cringe and rub the bridge of my nose between my fingers tiredly. His gaze turns to the Qunari; who has fallen asleep it seems. "I couldn't give her enough to do that." He peers back at me a bit guiltily. "I hadn't much to begin with, and she'll need what I could give her a full dose, though."

"Would you be able to make more here?" I ask and Solas nods. I turn to Leliana, "I need to take charge of the mess out there. I will send ingredients for the potion, but I can't stay to make sure the brandy actually _is _one." I can see Solas grin in amusement. Leliana has one that matches as she replies, "I've already assigned my agents their duties for the time being, I'll stay here if you wish." I nod, and stand to leave. I glance one last time at the Qunari before leaving and calling behind me, "Make sure you inform me of any changes." I can almost _feel_ Leliana's smirk leering at my back as she replies, "Of course."


	4. Words

Point of view shifts to third person in this one; a fair warning.

_Words_

The night of the Qunari's recovery began with the most violent episode of the Mark's weakness yet. Its light burst with undulating coils of flame-like magic bright as the morning sun. As her pain overwhelmed her senses, the young Hart-man thrashed and wreathed against her confines. Fearing that their prisoner would cause damage to her already suffering body; Leliana had immediately acted. She wrapped her arms around the Qunari to pin the young woman's against her chest. Then she all but sat on the the Hart-man's knees to keep her legs still. Leliana wished it had ended at that.

So silent was their prisoner, they had begun to believe that she was mute. It was in the throes of absolute and agonizing torment that their assumption was discredited. Enthralled in the Mark's torture, the Qunari's evidently self-induced silence had been broken. Her struggling form forcefully stilled; the young Hart-men's suffering was given voice. A voice that erupted into panicked screams, agonized wails, and excruciating shrieks. The Qunari's lungs heaved with every expression of torture and distress. These ear splitting cries sent horror raking down Leliana's spine with every pain warped note. But the screams would never hold a candle to what truly haunted Leliana on this night. This black night would forever be marked with pleading words; mangled in agony.

Leliana never truly learned Qunlat. Her time along side a Qunari during her adventures with the Hero of Ferelden had allowed her certain opportunities, though. The Hart-men's words were for the most part indiscernible, but Leliana knew them for what they were. What seemed like so long ago; a younger and more naïve Leliana had asked Sten to teach her a spare few phrases in Qunlat. The stoic Qunari had looked absolutely offended at the mantras she requested, but had relented when the Hero asked to be taught them as well. The words he taught them held the rough and harsh nature of the Qunlat language and its people. Nevertheless; they carried the rhythm and form of the faith that Leliana had chose to devote herself to so long ago.

In what sounded like warped and strained Qunlat; the young woman in her grasp murmured prayers to the Maker and his bride. Prayers of penance, faith, and resignation fell passed silver lustered lips and were murmured into Leliana's shoulder between screams. Leliana had heard prayers such as these many times before. When soldiers would steel themselves before an doomed battle, when the Revered Mothers prepared to tend the sickly or dying, and when the damned resigned to their fate. These prayers always communed with death.

So with haste and urgency; the Spymaster sent Solas for Cassandra. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as the she waited. Every moment was lead with screams of pain and ended with prayers only befitting the lips of the dying. Every _few _moments the words of the Qunari in Leliana's grasp would devolve fully into Qunlat shrieked pleas for death. For in these moments the Mark burst in especially violent swathes of magic.

It was during a violent period of the Qunari's seemingly never ending episode that the two arrived; toting the ingredients for the mage's potion. Leliana could see Cassandra's face pale at the cries and pleas spilling from their prisoner. The Seeker passed her portion of the ingredients to Solas. He grimly handed her the bottle of potion before getting to work on making more. The mage recommended that Cassandra give the full dose of potion left in the bottle. She only nodded in response.

The Seeker knelt beside the pair on the floor. With a rough jerk on the Qunari's antlers; Cassandra tipped the young woman's head back. This forced the Hart-man' mouth to open. Cassandra proceeded to pour the rest of the potion down the young woman's throat. Before her prisoner could cough it back up; Cassandra forced the Hart-man's mouth closed again and pinched her nose shut. A minute passed of struggling before the Qunari swallowed down the concoction, and the Seeker let go. Within moments the Qunari slumped against Leliana's form; heaving in exhaustion. Leliana loosened her hold on the prisoner before laying the young woman back down on the ground. A glance at the Mark caused only further alarm at the event that transpired. The Breach's Mark had spread again; extending its vile reach just past the crook of the Qunari's elbow.

An hour passed, and The Mark had flashed twice since the violent episode. Now though; the young woman kept eerily still under the potions influence. Even though the screams and prayers and pleas had not returned; the Hartman now stared feverishly at the space in front of her. A side affect that was both a relief and a concern. Occasionally her gaze would roll from the Seeker and her Nightingale associate, to the ceiling, down to the mage, and back again. Otherwise she was once again still and silent.

When no further events in the Qunari's recovery transpiring; Cassandra had eventually made a reluctant exit. Her duties could not wait for her any longer. Hours passed, the night grew late, and soon Solas showed signs of tiring while he worked. A misplaced elbow caused him to knock a bottle of concentrator agent off his worktable, but thankfully not break it. A sleeve too close to a potion cauldron's fire blackened a bit in the heat before being pulled away. However, Solas soon finished preparing the concoction; it only needed to simmer for an hour. Then it could be poured into flasks and given to the Qunari. When Leliana saw this she insisted he rest. She could manage an hour or two of waiting for the potion, and watching a catatonic Qunari. Solas merely shook his head before walking to the door. The Qunari may be persuaded to eat and to drink something other than potion when this docile. So he left out the door to fetch some food and water for their prisoner turned patient.

Now Leliana was once again alone with the prisoner. As the potion sent wisps of steam to the ceiling and the prisoner lay prone; a weariness began to settle in Leliana's spirit. The day had been too long and too darkened by horror and stress; but she would endure it further still. She steels herself for the long night ahead, and wonders if her agents had gleaned any progress in their scouting. Had Harding and her scouts found any clues to the Conclave's destruction? Had they found the Divine or what remained of her? Were they dead? A sigh passes through her lips, and she moves to sit against the wall before leaning into it. She glances at the Qunari and finds that she has affixed her with an almost lucid gaze. The Qunari winces when the Mark flashes again. She tries to speak, chokes on a parched throat, coughs violently, recovers, and tries to speak again. A voice worn from strain and rough like old leather rasps out. "You are Leliana; the Divine's Left Hand." A statement; not a question posed with a lilt heavy with an accent Leliana wasn't too familiar with. Definitely not a Qunlat speech pattern. Curious. It must have been this that made the young Qunari's Qunlat sound strained.

Outwardly Leliana only blinks in response; she wasn't going to interrogate their prisoner like this if she could manage it. But the Qunari seems to not take Leliana's silence as a rejection to conversation, or didn't care. The Qunari continues, "Do not let them burn me." Leliana furrows her brow in confusion. The Qunari gives her a dark look. Leliana cocks her head to the side; intrigued. The Mark flashes and the young Hart-man lets out a strangled gasp."This beast within me claws and rends." She says before needing to regain some breath, and Leliana takes this chance to stride across the room to sit the prisoner up. She grasps the Qunari's shoulders in a firm grip as she asks the question assailing her thoughts. "What beast; what do you mean?" The Qunari shows obvious strain as she lifts her Marked arm to Leliana and gazes at her with grim resignation. "It came from the Fade, and latched onto me like a lost child." The Mark grows an inch upward with another flash. The Qunari's back arches in pain; her eyes shut tight her as face contorts with the strain. Leliana pushes on despite the young woman's discomfort "Why would they burn you?" The young woman's eyes open; her green gaze is mired with weakness as she replies. "You have to kill me before it consumes me." The Qunari's makes to continue, but her face pales and her eyes roll blearily to the back of her head. Leliana feels a pit settling in her gut at the motion and gently lays the Qunari down. A cold sweat now covers the young woman's skin, and her breath has become shallow. Leliana covers the Qunari in her blankets. The Mark gleams evilly on the Qunari's arm, and Leliana wonders if the young woman before her will even survive the night. "Listen-" the Qunari gasps; her speech broken with ragged breaths. "This beast _craves_ the Fade – _wants_ to go home- they'll _have to – _but do _not_ let them - _burn_ _me_." The Qunari is struggling to breath. As much as Leliana wants to listen; she shushes the Hart-man. "No more talking." The Qunari's green eyes plead for Leliana to listen, but she stays firm. "We will not let it consume you because we still need answers. Answers that you will give to both Seeker Cassandra _and_ I. You will only give those answers _after _we've gotten you strong again." The Qunari's demeanor changes back to grim resignation. Leliana grasps the Qunari's shoulder and affixes her with a pointed glare. "We _will _return you to strength." The Hart-man looks blankly at Leliana before turning away from her to gaze up at the cell's ceiling. Leliana is about to return to her spot next to the wall when she hears a weak final plea, "Just don't let them burn me." Leliana only glances back to her prisoner, then returns to her spot at the wall.

The potion soon finishes preparing; and Solas returns with food and an urn of water. He gives the Qunari a dose of the potion after she has eaten and drinks from the urn. Leliana watches as the Qunari slips into a fitful sleep. The Spymaster relays to Solas her conversation with the young woman, and his eyebrows shoot up at the mention of the Mark and its apparent want. With only the explanation of it being "possibly lucrative", the mage once again leaves to do some research on the Mark. Leliana already knew about his studies of the Fade; and so let him leave after giving her instructions on administering the potion. And so the night crept on; and while her prisoner slept, Leliana waited.


	5. Mislead

New non-cannon DA countries introduced, and mildly un-cannon scenes concerning beginning game scenarios.

_Mislead_

Cassandra is beginning to regret ever rescuing the damnable pain in ass. "We _know _you can speak. We _know_ you can tell us what happened at the Conclave." It had taken a week; a_ week _before the Qunari showed any improvement in health. "We _know_ you had been traveling with a group of Tal-Vashoth before you arrived there. We _know_ you were not there on their orders, and we _know _that you were not invited there." It had taken another _four days_ before the Mark had relented its consistent torment on the prisoner. It was _another _two days before the Qunari was in well enough health for interrogation. It had been in total _thirteen__ days_ before they could interrogate their _only lead_ concerning the Conclave and the Divine's disappearance. "We contacted your Tal-Vashoth chief. He relayed that by _no means_ had he ordered you to conduct business at the Conclave; and _if_ you were there you went _alone__."_ They had nursed her back to health. They had been more than kind considering the circumstances. "So _why_ did you tell us that you were at the Conclave with your partner. The _both _of you having been invited by the Divine?_" _They had been trying to get the truth from the Hart-man for_ another two days_. Cassandra grabs the back of the chair the Qunari is bound to and tips it precariously back as she gets _right _in the prisoners' face. An interrogation tactic that usually left her prisoners squirming. "Did you really think we would be that _gullible!?" _The Qunari looks her right in the eye; and headbutts her right in the nose. Cassandra likes to think that she is a reasonable woman above the low-brow habits of cursing and throwing tantrums. But after all that has happened in the past couple of days; she lets loose a string of colorful profanities as she clutches her bloodied nose. She kicks the Qunari square in the gut for good measure. The only sound the Qunari has made, after her relaying of her supposed purpose at the Conclave, is the grunt of discomfort when Cassandra's boot meets her liver.

The Qunari had told them her elaborate lie the first day of the interrogation. She had told them that she and her supposed partner had been personally invited to the Conclave by Divine Justinia to conduct some sort of business. When questioned as to what that business entailed; the Qunari had given them a blank look and responded in richly accented tones, _"All information concerning business can only be relayed __**after**__ a mutual consensus between the alleged parties on the divulging of __the transaction's__ details. The parties in question are Divine Justinia, my partner, and myself. On the event of any parties being reported as missing; it is necessary to locate and consult said parties on the matter. Otherwise no information will be relayed without a full __consensus.__ If one or more of the parties are reported as dead; those who remain may decide amongst themselves to relay detail__s__ of the __transaction__. However, it is only after the death; or deaths, are proven and confirmed that this __action __is authorized__." _The Qunari had turned her chin up at them in obstinate finality before ending her monologue with, "_Two parties are not present. Divine Justinia and my partner must be found or confirmed dead. Then and only then will you have __**any chance**__ of being informed on the matter." _When questioned about the Conclave's destruction the Qunari had not replied.

And cryptically silent the Qunari remained. Demons and rifts were tearing up all of Thedas, and this young woman was toying with them. That was the only way Cassandra could use to describe the whole exchange. The Qunari was t_oying _with them while the world fell apart around them_. _Not only had the leader of the Tal-Vashoth mercenary band denied any business proposal between the Divine and themselves ever being conducted; the old ox-man had adamantly relayed that the Hart-man hadn't any _partner _by any means. The worst part of it was; Cassandra had honestly _believed_ the prisoner. The only reason they sent a message to the Mercenary band was to find out if this supposed partner had shown up after the Conclave's destruction.

When Cassandra had found out this morning, she immediately confronted the Qunari woman. Now she has a bloodied nose and injured pride to show for it. Perhaps she should have expected the reaction. During the Qunari's recovery, it had become apparent that the young Hart-man had little patience to offer. Upon the seventh day into the bout with the Mark's torment; Cassandra had been forced to order her _other_ prisoner into the Chantry's holding cells. The demons had been steadily growing closer to the hold that she had Varric stowed away in. She couldn't afford to loose the dwarf to their fetid clutches. She was still certain he had the information they needed. That, and she didn't despise him enough to let him get torn apart by the Fade's abominations. Even she had to admit that he didn't deserve such a gruesome fate; she _did not_ have to tell him that though. Henceforth; she decided he would spend his remaining time in the Chantry's cell. The same cell as the Qunari; to keep all her gems in the same lockbox as it were. A decision she doesn't quite know if she regrets or finds a bit of schadenfreude in.

She knows that the dwarven author tends to pry incessantly into other peoples' business; sometimes their private business. She did not, however, think he would try to pry into the Qunari's. Much like the Seeker and her Nightingale associate; Varric was met with silence when he hammered the Hart-man with questions. The first couple of days the Qunari was too far gone in the affects of Solas's potion to really pay him any mind. However; during a moment of lucidity amongst Varric's own sort of interrogation the young woman had somehow given him a black eye from across the room. When Solas was questioned on the matter it was revealed that she had skillfully kicked her boot off, at him, and right in the face at that. When inquired as to what the dwarf asked; Solas had shifted awkwardly in his chair before saying gruffly,_"A question only her beloved would have any right to ask."_ Cassandra fights hard to keep a wry grin off her face at the thought. The dwarf should have known better than to ask a Qunari about such things; even a sedated one. The lapse in her ire for the young woman passes when she glances at the Mark that still clings to the Qunari's hand. Not a moment passes without some reminder to their situation. She walks out the room, briefly informs the guard to leave the Qunari on the floor until she returns, and walks through the Chantry halls. When she is once again before the holding cell; she pauses to wipe the last vestiges of blood off her face, then enters.

Varric is leaning against the wall he's chained to on her left; he has somehow gotten his hands on a book to read. Solas is to her right, pouring after countless tomes and scrolls. Varric glances up at her briefly; but double takes, no doubt, when he sees Cassandra's face. She can see his face strain to not break out in a mocking smile even in the cell's poor lighting. "I see you too have met the wrath of my fellow prisoner, Seeker." Solas glances up at her at the remark. Cassandra sighs in exasperation before walking over to the mage. "Please tell me you have good news." She asks; hoping that _some _progress had been made today. The mage raises a thin eyebrow at her before replying, "I have found several incidents in ancient texts that tell of magic like the Mark." Cassandra could almost feel relief at that, but it is immediately shot down by Solas's next remark. "However, these incidences do not mention any connection to events like the Breach. In fact, there does not seem to be any account of rifts of that scale opening in previous history. Likewise, the opening of multiple rifts on the scale they are now is completely unheard of. I'm afraid my sources quite possibly do not go back far enough in history for them to be of any use." Cassandra scoffs before pacing about the room. "I can not pull answers from the Qunari, and you can not pull answers from your books." She begins to grip the bridge of her nose in exasperation, but hisses in discomfort and jerks her hand away as if it was burned. Her nose feels bruised if not broken. Maker _damn_ that woman and her stubbornness.

She hears Varric choke on a laugh from the his side of the cell. Cassandra abruptly turns to face him. She finds a bit of satisfaction in how he tries to pretend he _didn't _lurch back at her glare. He clears his throat before speaking his mind. "You know; going by how you've been _so_ hospitable and accommodating concerning _my_ incarceration. You may want to consider that she doesn't believe you to be _all that_ trustworthy. You _did_ throw her in here while she was obviously in poor health. Could have _died_, you know. 'Course she won't talk to me; or anyone here for that matter. So I may be wrong." Cassandra scoffs again. "We have been more than accommodating considering the situation. We have ensured her health; her life for that matter. The Mark would have killed her while in the condition she was in when she arrived. We have taken her from a painful death." Cassandra continues to pace, "We have been _far more_ lenient and flexible than is _standard_. What prisoner anywhere else can attest to having wardens that actually _considere_d their health before interrogation?" Varric sighs tiredly before responding, "That may be so Seeker, but there is one thing you fail to consider in all this." Cassandra turns to him again in interest. Varric merely rolls his eyes before continuing. The irony of the Seeker _seeking_ insight from _him _more exasperating than ironic. "From what I gleaned from your conversations with _chuckles_ over there; she has told you that she and her partner were at the Conclave on business." Cassandra quirks an irked eyebrow at him and sets her lips in a thin line. He continues unabashed, "This Qunari, upon questioned by yourself and _Red_; basically told you in professional terms that she is _contractually obligated_ to remain silent on the details of said business transaction until all parties were accounted for." Cassandra groans in _her_ exasperation. "I know that!" she all but yells. "I know she _said_ that, but when we questioned her Mercenary company they said they didn't send her to the Conclave. Nor did they say that she had a partner. She _lied._ She fabricated a _ridiculous lie._ One I should have _seen through-"_ "And _that_ is just the _problem_ Seeker!" Varric's abrupt interruption jarred her enough to stop her in her pacing as well as her speech. She looks helplessly at him for a moment. Varric wryly shakes his head at her before continuing. "Cassandra; you are a smart woman, but you are completely missing the possibly _very real_ prospect that this Qunari woman did not tell her Merc. Leader where she was going. Probably didn't tell him she _had a partner _either_._" Cassandra knows she is missing a vital detail about her prisoner when she looks to Solas for elaboration and sees the dawning of revelation spread across his features. Cassandra does _not_ like the feeling that she's getting from the conversation. "If it is true what she says; _if_ she had been honest with us, then _why not_ her leader? What does she have to hide from _him._"

"That she is not a mercenary by trade." The statement causes everyone in the room to jolt in surprise; except for Solas, who only glances at the doorway before returning attention to his tomes. Leliana hides her grin at everyones reactions to her entry as she saunters up to Cassandra. Leliana holds a gleeful and satisfied smirk on her face. Cassandra's feel the beginnings of a headache from her associate's statement. "When did you acquire _this_ information?" she asks, disbelief heavy on her tongue. Leliana's smirk only widens as she replies. "Our prisoner told me, us, in a way." She holds up a scroll to Cassandra. When the Seeker reads it; it reveals the Qunari's entire statement from the first interrogation. Every word scrawled out in looping handwriting. Cassandra glances up at Leliana with a quirked eyebrow. Leliana smiles like a cat that caught the canary. "As Varric said; it is a contractual excerpt; from a _particularly_ binding contract at that." Cassandra is beginning to grow impatient with everyone beating around the bush. Leliana smiles placatingly when the Seeker begins to sneer. "After she said these very words I had duplicates written and sent out with my agents to find any leads. There aren't many Mercenary companies that require such strict client confidentiality as standard practice. The Tal-Vashoth tend to be rather open-book about their business. Any mercenary companies that possess client confidentiality contracts have no records of being composed of, or even having Tal-Vashoth amongst their members."

Solas straightens his seat before piping up. "She isn't just any Tal-Vashoth either." The other three look over to him for clarification. He continues, "She is a Hartman Qunari. Hartmen are rare when compared to their ox-man counterparts. Furthermore; they are largely controlled by the Ben-Hassrath. They are forbidden to venture to lands not under the Qun's control." Leliana nods and interjects, "The fact that she _is_ anywhere _but _the Qun-lands should be alarming enough. But when searching for information on her amongst various sources my agents only found her mentioned in recent exploits with the Valo-kas mercenary company. According to _their_ chief she had only shown up a month ago asking for work in their ranks." Cassandra can feel a frown pull at her lips as she asks, "So, she wasn't a mercenary until recently. What was she before_?" _Leliana snickers before walking back to the door to lean on its threshold. "Our Qunari friend was and _is_ a Bard." She replies. She reaches into her satchel to pull out an object and a letter; a letter bearing a distinct noble's seal. "One Lord Antón of the Trevelyan family has discovered our interest in his Bard it would seem. He is traveling to Val Royeaux as we speak, he hopes to then travel here to confirm her identity in person. Judging from when the letter was sent, he should be arriving in the grand city in the next week or so." Cassandra's face twists into an expression of confusion before stating, "The Trevelyans are a noble family of the _Free-Marches_." Cassandra rubs at her forehead where the headache begins to worsen. "Why in Thedas would one of them travel to Orlais during its civil war? Why would he send his _Bard_ to the Conclave?" At this Leliana's grin falters before falling completely, "Well that's where things get complicated." She sighs. "According to the letter-" Cassandra walk over to the Spymaster. Leliana passes the letter to her before continuing "- Monsieur Trevelyan's _Bards_, for according to him there is _supposed_ to be another who traveled with the Qunari, often conduct their own business as well as his. He is not partial to all the details either." Cassandra growls as she reads this very information in the letter. She scoffs, "_How _can any _respectable __**nobleman**_ not have a handle on his _own __**Bard's**__?!" _Leliana hands Cassandra the object she pulled out with the letter before responding, "I am not certain; Lord Trevelyan did however send this over to help confirm." Cassandra looks at the object, then lets it dangle from her hand. It is a simple chain necklace, but the pendant that hangs from it is what interests her more. At first she thought it was an animal's tooth, but the silvery sheen had her inspect it closer. Cassandra's gaze snaps back up to Leliana, "Is this what I think it is?" Leliana only shrugs before walking out the cell door. "There's only one way to find out." She calls back.

Cassandra follows the Spymaster out and through the halls of the Chantry. When they arrive once again at the interrogation room they greet the guard at the door and enter.

Sorry it took so long! Hope you all enjoyed it.


	6. Alone

New non-cannon DA countries introduced, and mildly un-cannon scenes concerning beginning game scenarios

_Alone_

The black murk of night is broken again and again by the swirling green of the Fade '_Where are you?' _I can feel you slip further and further into its clutches. _' Please. Please don't leave me here.' _I am running and running but I can't see what lies before me; the wind and snow a blinding sheet of searing cold. I must find you. _'Where are you?'_ I feel my feet pound into ice and gravel as I run onward into the storm. _' Don't go.'_ The winter air pierces my lungs. _' Don't go!' _You are drifting further and further away. _' I am coming! Don't go; please don't go!'_ Further away. '_Please don't leave me.' _You are fading.

_(I'm sorry.)_

You are gone. I have found you; but you are gone.

Leliana POV

To say that Cassandra had been more furious than Leliana had ever seen her would be a gross understatement. Never in her time in knowing the Nervarran had Leliana seen her completely loose her mind to fury. However; the shattered chair the Hart-man had occupied that morning was both evidence and testament to the Seeker wrath. The Qunari had escaped, and the guard in charge of her locked in a cell.

"_Lucky man," _Leliana mused as she sent one agent after the other in search of the Hartman. _"A lesser commander could have made an example out of him by public humiliation in the stocks; or worse." _None of her scouts she'd sent out had found a trace of the Hart-man all day and well into the night. Worst still a horrendous blizzard had decided to overtake Haven's mountain range. Leliana can feel a wry smirk pull across her lips as she turns toward her maps of the area. _"The blizzard had completely covered all evidence of tracks but cleared the passes of demons" _The map was stained and pock marked with various ink blots. Different hues indicating demon locations and routes, soldier and scout posts, and more recently areas they've covered in their man hunt. _"Whatever fate the Maker planned for that woman; we are surely made to not interfere."_

"Spymaster?" Leliana turns toward a scout; his clothes are soaked from the still falling snow but his eyes gleam brightly. Leliana can feel the enthusiasm poor from him in waves; she grins knowingly.

"Any news of your hunt?" The young man, Thorston if she remembers correctly, puffs out his chest and smiles proudly, "We have captured and returned your quarry; Spymaster Leliana!" Leliana feels pride bloom in her chest. Her scouts have never failed her. Almost never. Leliana's demeaner plummets into absolute seriousness, " Where is she now?" Thorston is undeterred by her change, "Back in the interrogation room and guarded by scouts; as you asked." Leliana nods in approval and Thorston seems to grow an inch taller in mirth. " Good; inform Seeker Pentaghast." Thorston nods and moves to walk away, but Leliana stops him. "Thorston," He turns back to her in curiosity. " Make sure she isn't in a murderous mind set when she comes to interrogate the prisoner." Thorston nods and runs off to find Cassandra. Leliana makes her way to the interrogation room. _"Probably best I speak to her before Cassandra strangles her."_

Cassandra POV

"_I'll kill her." _The sound of my boots stomping down the stone halls leave a cacophony of thuds and clacks echoing around me, but I can't bring myself to care. That Qunari has done far too much harm for me to care about anything but beating the information out of her. _"Then I'll shove my sword so far down her throat she'll shit iron ore." _ I'm almost there; I can see the door to the interrogation room, I've almost got the door handle, but a hand grasps my shoulder and stops me short. I give an affronted look toward one of the scouts guarding the door; her hand is clasping my shoulder. I sneer at her and prepare to demand that she let me pass when the door opens and Leliana walks out, but based on the look on her face she hasn't noticed me. "You interrogated her without me!" I shout. Leliana startles a bit, looks at me in surprise, then sobers and nods. "You were in no condition to interrogate. I did what I thought was best." She says calmly and cooly like she always does; and it incites me even further. I am tired of spies, and I am tired of their mind games. I sneer at her as I make to shove my way passed her, but once again I am barred from doing so. It is the Spymaster herself who stops me this time.

"Cassandra," She starts, but I shove my way past her and into the interrogation room and what I see confounds me. There sitting in a new chair is the prisoner; unbound and armed with a bow. I tense; expecting an attack of some sort, but the Qunari hasn't even looked up to acknowledge my entrance. She's just sitting in the chair; head stooped down and gaze fixed on the bow. I clear my throat loudly to gain her attention. She finally looks up at me and the tide of my anger ebbs. The same green peers that had been full of open obstinance and steel are icy and empty. She looks at me for only a moment before returning her gaze to her bow. My anger is quelled. I turn and Leliana is standing in the doorway; looking as lost as I on this. I try to muster some of the ire I felt beforehand; "Why is she armed? She could have attacked us with that bow; and you left it with her!" A hollow laugh answers from behind me, and I see Leliana's expression twist in grim discontent. I turn back to the Qunari. She is running her thumb up and down the bow's shaft; almost caressing it.

I sneer; "What's seems to be so amusing; prisoner?" I feel myself shudder just as much as the Qunari's next quaking breathe. She looks up at me with a smirk devoid of any mirth, "The idea that I could harm you with a bow" she replies. I can feel my face tick into an expression of confusion at that absurd statement. She laughs again; and it churns my stomach to here it. Her attention moves back to the bow as she continues, "My partner tried to teach me to use one of these damnable things." The Qunari's grip grasps white knuckle tight on the bow-shaft. "Turns out I'm absolute rubbish with bows _and_ crossbows." She takes another shuddering breathe, "Every time she tried to teach me she'd end up telling me that I could try whacking someone with one a foot away from me like a club; and I'd still miss!" Her next laugh stops with a gargled choke. Her expression twists in pain and she curls forward and hides her face in one of her hands.

I don't know how to respond. I look at the bow in her hands; the shaft two sizes too large to fit in well her in her grasp. Her fingers are horribly scratched and dirtied; what seems to be charcoal marks stain her fingers. I see other evidences of soot and scrapes on her clothes, arms, and boots. The

Hart-man seems to compose herself. She looks up at me once more and her eyes have regained their steel; but are still very cold and very empty. She straightens in her chair to face me properly. I straighten myself, but remain silent. "My partner had been injured at the Conclave." I feel the breath leave me but I maintain my silence. She breathes deeply and forcefully steady as her eyes cloud with an agony not unlike that of the mark's. "I didn't know, but I suspected." She continues. She laughs humorlessly. "By the Maker I didn't want to be right! I escaped in order to find her." Her expression twists to match the agony in her peers. "I found her." My heart thuds beneath my breast painfully. I am reminded of the broken prisoner we found at the Conclave's ruins. I see the shattered young woman before me now. The Hart-man steels herself further; taking deep shuddering breathes before looking me straight in the eye. "My partner has been confirmed as dead; I will tell you what I can." I should be elated to get some answers; by all I feel is sickened.


	7. Truth and Preparation

I know I've said it before; but a new country will actually be introduced now. Sorry for that foul up.

Truth and Preparation

(previously) "My partner has been confirmed as dead; I will tell you what I can." I should be elated to get some answers; by all I feel is sickened.

Cassandra POV

I school myself into neutrality as I respond, "Very well." The Qunari glances at the door briefly before steadying her gaze back on me. I have her full attention. Good. "What is your name."

"Mysh' Adaar." I begin pacing; and continue; "Where are you from?" "Ruthenia -" she pauses; glances to the side, and continues "- for the most part." I look at her directly. I raise my brow. Her gaze returns to me, steady and focused as she responds; "People in my line of work don't hold housing for long." "What is the work that you do?" The Hart-man dips her chin to gaze skeptically at me; I sneer at her. She turns her gaze from me, but relents. "Infiltration, surveillance, interrogation, persuasion, gathering information," she closes her eyes as she pauses, but looks back up to me as she continues, "My work, however, usually ends in the elimination of our target." A dark smog of dread is born in my gut as I respond, "Your a cut-throat." The Qunari quirks a brow at that; "Cut throats don't have confidentiality contracts," Doubt begins to swim amongst the dread. I respond bitterly "Nor do they often go weak and weaponless into a blizzard to find their partner."

"And seldom do they spend great amounts of time in the middle of a blizzard to give that partner a funeral ceremony. Especially if it meant being recaptured." I manage to keep myself from jumping out of my skin as Leliana speaks. I had not noticed her entry, and as she moves to stand beside me I study, once again, the dirt and ash covering the Hartman's hands. Her grip tightens on the bow still in her grasp, but her attention remains on me as Leliana continues, "You lit a funeral pyre. I doubt you are foolish enough to think it would go unnoticed." The Qunari's gaze flickers to Leliana, "You are right to think that." I glance at Leliana and she signals me to once again take the lead. "Then why make and light a pyre at all, or wait long enough for capture?"

I startle, mentally, as the Hartman snorts in dry amusement. "Other than the fact that this place is the only sign of civilization for miles around, in the middle of a blizzard, in the middle of the Frostback Mountains. While I, as you said, was weak and weaponless?" I find myself disturbed by the sarcastic remark, all the more so when accompanied with that snort and a roll of the eyes. I scoff and glare at her. She huffs in reply, but answers fully." My partner was a loyal follower of Andraste and her teachings. In Ruthenia, her home country, that means when you die you are to be cremated so that your soul may share and honor Andraste's sacrifice for her people. Only after you are nothing but ash can you then be buried." The notion is horrifying at best and I'm sure that it shows on my face, for I can see Leliana quaking with silent humor in my peripheral. " The Ruthenians do understand that Andraste was burned alive and not willingly, yes?" The Qunari's expression darkens considerably before replying, " They most definitely understand." The weight implied in the answer puzzles me and I turn to Leliana. All I receive in return is a neutral gaze.

I am confused, but I continue with the interrogation "If you are not a cut throat, and are in fact a Bard, who do you serve?" The Qunari seems to mull over her answer before answering. "I am not a Bard, for I serve no one."; a curt reply. I scowl at her; "Lord Antón Trevelyan seems to think otherwise." She gives a mildly bewildered look before scowling back; "I owe the man a great debt; but by no means am I bound to him as his or anyone's servant." I raise my brow at that. "If he is not your patron; then what is he to you?" She looks off to the side, and her gaze softens and glazes over. "An familiar face attached to an old memory ." The vague response throws me off kilter for a moment; I once again turn to Leliana. She nods, and I continue; "And who was he to your partner?" The soft gaze turns to murky emptiness as it returns to me. "It isn't my place to say." I make to retort; but she raises a hand to placate me. "It is only the Trevelyan's right to do so." I scoff; "Very well." I walk up to her, and force her to crane her neck up to look me in the eye. "If Lord Trevelyan did not send you; who did?"

Her green gaze is steely and doesn't falter as she responds. "No one. I and my partner were invited by Divine Justinia to attend the Conclave." I bristle, "What happened at the Conclave?" At this the Qunari almost shows concern. "I'm sorry." I feel a fist tighten around my chest and my head fill with hot anger. " As I have told your associate; I have no memory of it." A righteous fury burn bright in my breast as I grab her cursed hand; "Then explain this!" She cringes as I fling the appendage from me. I hear her quieted response of "I can't." Before I can form a rebuttal Leliana steps up and I force myself to back off. "Do you remember anything at all?" the Nightingale begins "How this began?" The Qunari grimaces and shakes her head. "All I _do _remember is-" the Hartman clutches at her head "-running. Running from something. The fear – and a woman?" The last part posed as a question as she looks back up to Leliana. "A woman?" the Spymaster inquires; her voice edged with shock. The Qunari nods, "She reached out to me, but-" The mark pulses on her hand; breaking her speech. She cringes and shakes her head in negation. I look to Leliana and we both move toward the cell's door. "What happens now?" We both turn back to the Qunari. Her gaze is steely and haunted, but the color is returning to her face. I turn back to Leliana and begin to form a plan.


	8. Scorched Earth and Torn Skies

Sicarius

Scorched Earth and Torn Skies

Mysh POV

Fear. A woman. Fade-light sparking behind closed lids. Soldiers in a burning ruin. Lancing Pain. Darkness.

Torn up bits left from the storm that was the nightmare; from the storm that birthed the Breach. Pieces of memory flash, my mind grasping and clinging to a shattered part of itself in desperation. In an attempt to remain whole. I remember little of the night of the Conclave. I have told the Seeker and Nightingale as such. I have finally convinced them of my honesty on the matter.

Darkness. A cry. _Where are you? _Fade-light sparking behind behind closed lids. Weakening. Writhing pain and shadowed figures in the fade-light. A plea. _Come back to me._ Fading away. Frozen. Frozen to the bone. A whisper. _Come back to me._

I see their dread. It swathes of them like black smoke in heavy fog. They are planning their next move.

"I will join Cullen on the Mountain." The Nightingale murmurs. They keep their voices low. Humans always think I do not hear them when they whisper at each other. The Nightingale should know better, or if she does she does not care enough to keep the information from me.

"I will take the prisoner to Solas then, if what he says is true, she may be able to aid us." The Seeker turns to glance at me. Her eyes cloud with distrust and slivers of muddy grey mingle with the dark dread.

Writhing pain. Shadowed figures in the fade-light. Freezing. Dying. Pain. Fear. Pain. Fade-light sparking behind closed lids. Stabbing pain. Writhing pain. Fading. Fading. _Where are you?_ Fear. Dying. _Come back to me._ Fading. Fading.

The Seeker glances at my partner's bow; still clutched tightly in my hands. The mark on my left hand glints and stabs like a knife. I clutch tighter. Earthy brown eyes cloud ever still, and the faint yellows of pity and regret take the place of the mistrust. She turns away to continue her talk with the Nightingale.

Awake. Straw and stone beneath me. Shackles. Cold. Deathly cold. Steel covering strong hands lift and move me. Open eyes to an unfamiliar face.

The Nightingale leaves, and the Seeker strides toward me; heavy steps in steel greaves thump and scrape on the stone floor and echo off the walls. She grabs me roughly by the shoulder and easily hoists me up onto my feet. The sickly pallor of unease flecks the murk around her. My light weight must disturb her.

Days, weeks, then months pass trekking across the land with the Tal-Vashoth Mercenaries pass. At the mark of the year they have grown to respect my skills and craft. Their leader is hard headed and was weary of me due to my lineage, but now considers me a fellow member of the Valo-kas. He is a good man, and so are his mercenaries. He treats me fairly, and as such gives me food portions fitting my size and needs.

T'was a welcome gesture until the winter months. She can hunt for her food and track us far easier in the warmer parts of the year. But now the snow seems to fall every moment of every day in the mountains. Tracking is made more difficult, and she has a greater need for resources than I. I keep a third of my share and stow away the rest to feed and supply my partner in secret. Good thing these mercenaries don't tend to pay attention much to the people they trust.

It is a relief when the request for our presence from the Divine comes. I leave in secret to join my partner, we hunt together and gain more strength as we venture toward what will be known as the Conclave. When we arrive, we may be able to strengthen up still.

She pulls and ushers me through the halls of the Chantry building. Her gate is hurried and no-nonsense. The few Chantry workers and worshippers that are present act demure and aloof but are haloed by anger, confusion, distrust, and when eyes trained on me; hatred and fear. When the Seeker open the heavy wooden doors into the village beyond such feelings are echoed in the faces and souls of the villagers and soldiers. The air above the tents and houses is smothered with the blood reds, bright sickly greens, and blood reds of hatred, fear, and death.

I feel a weariness clench at my gut and heart as I am marched into it all. I look to the sky at the garish atrocity to nature and the Maker as it spits more death and despair onto the lives below.

"We call in _The Breach_; it's a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour." I look to the Seeker, and school my expression into a neutral one. She turns around to face me, having been looking at The Breach as well. "It's not the only such rift." she continues, "Just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave."

Fade-light sparking behind closed lids. Shadowed figures. Fear. Pain. A woman. Soldiers in a burning ruin. Lancing pain. Darkness. Death. Dying. Pain. Fear. Fear. Fear. _I'm so sorry._Gone. Empty. Nothing. Dead.

The memories fill the void with anger. I look at The Breach again, a question burning in my mind. "An explosion can cause all this?" My voice is neutral. The bow heavy in my hands. Hands it was never made for.

The Seeker's gruff reply "This one did." turns my attention to her again. Heavy greaves thump and crunch through half frozen mud. She stands before me, and the swirl of dread about her lightens with determined intent. "Unless we act, The Breach may grow until it swallows the world."

As if affirming its intent, The Breach flashes blinding and horrible. Pain rips through my mind bring me to my knees painfully. The icy mud soak through my cloak and seeps the cold onto my skin. I clutch my hand to my chest as a try to not cry out again from the Mark's torment.

The Seeker quickly kneels before me. Concern once again flowing around her; dark eyes desperate but still determined. "Each time The Breach expands, your Mark spreads...and it is killing you." I force my expression to be neutral, and strain to keep it that way through the tearing pangs running up my arm. She hands me my partner's bow, I had dropped it in my moment of anguish. I reach for it with my right hand, the other still pressed to my chest. As I press my finger tips into varnished wood she speaks, "That Mark may be the key to stopping this, but there isn't much time." I pause, her eyes are the same, the mist around her is pleading.

_I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._Gone. . The opening to the meet up point we had established before going to the Conclave was just visible through the blizzard. I picked up my running to a maddening sprint. Lying crumpled against the stones of the mountain side was my partner. I felt myself breaking as I ran to her. Blood caked to burnt flesh, long gashes from unholy talons seen through tears in her armor. Eyes gazing unseeing toward the direction I was coming from.

Screaming and howling into the snow storm as I held her lifeless form. Emptiness. Rage. Fear. Pain. Agony. Hopelessness. Hollowness. Hatred. Anguish. Hatred. Hatred. Hatred. Sorrow. Emptiness. Alone. Gone.

I peer into the Seekers dark gaze. Allowing for steel and determination to show in my own I give her her answer, and take the bow from her grasp. "If I can help you. I will." The Seeker seems pleased. I hoist myself to my feet, and after a moment, I ask of her something that almost brings me to my knees again. "I understand that I already owe you greatly." She gives my a steely look as she too rises to her feet. The gaze turns to confusion as I hand her back the bow. I allow a dry smirk before continuing. "I told you before that I'm rubbish with these things. Much as I want to keep it close, I can neither use it or trust it with anyone else. All I ask is that it is kept safe while I am gone."

The Seeker hesitates before taking the bow. "We haven't the time to stow it away ourselves. I have a servant that I can leave it with, she is trustworthy and will keep it safe." She takes a short pause to think. "Should I give her instructions on how to care for it if you do not return?"

I immediately shake my head no. "I do ask that it is returned to partners grave if that is the case. The scouts who found me this morning will no the spot."

The Seeker nods as she leads me through town. When she spots an young elven woman she shouts out to her and the frightened thing scampers over like an over disciplined pup. I am not surprised. Before handing the bow the elf and relaying her instructions the Seeker turns to me once more. "Are you certain?"

Eyes like mudstone and chestnut bark peer down into my own. Green and deep indigo streams of fear and concern frame a strong jaw and high cheek bones. Wracked with shivers from a passing gust of icy chill. Carefully being held closer to warmth. Dark eyes and muted purples plea for forgiveness. Strong arms. Warmth. Safe. I am safe here.

I meet the Seeker's gaze and hold it as I reply. "Yes."

I know it is different from the game. It is supposed to be.


End file.
